


The Talk Or the birds, the bees and the Winchesters

by Chiefraz



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 21:27:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1526384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiefraz/pseuds/Chiefraz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Its time to have the talk all good little hunter girls should have</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Talk Or the birds, the bees and the Winchesters

The Talk

Or the birds, the bees and the Winchesters 

 

When Jo Beth Harvelle was 17 years old, her mother decided it was time to sit the girl down and have 'the talk.' It was late one night after last call, the final drunk has been tossed, Ash had settled down on his favorite pool table and was snoring softly. Ellen poured her self two fingers of Jim Beam then set Jo down on a bar stool with all the courage she could muster.

“Jo darlin, “ her mother began. “We need to have a talk about something important...stuff you need to know about going forward.”

The girl rolled her eyes. “If it's that one about that glorious step into womanhood, you're five years too late. Been riden the cotton pony for a while now.”

“I know that you igjit,” Ellen knocked back her drink and poured an extra finger. “No, this is about boys and girls.....”

“You're four years late on that one. Health class at school.” Jo was looking at her mother with that patented teenage expression, “Oh god kill me now if this goes on much longer .”

“Well,” the older woman gave up on the glass and took a big swig right from the bottle. “It's about men....”

“Who are all dogs who shouldn't be trusted and most should have their nads nicked off with a dull butter knife.”

“Nice to know something I've said been getting through to you.” 

Jo smiled and reached for the bottle of Mr Beams best. “I listen some times.”

Ellen intercepted the reach and held her baby girls hand instead. “Honey, I'm talking about the Winchester boys and one in particular.”

A look of panicked guilt flooded the girls' face. “What?”

“I've watched you moon over Dean Winchester since you were 12 and he was 17.”

“Mom, he didn't look at me twice.” Dean had stopped in for a quick one that evening on his way to the west coast. Something about a job in southern Cali.

Ellen sighed, “he may not have but you were eye ball'en him all evening.” She smiled a bit, “I'm surprised the kid didn't get a little cold the way your mind was taken his clothes off down his skivees.”

 

“MOTHER! And how did you know what I was thinking any how?” 

“It was written all over your face for anyone with half a brain cell to see. Granted, if Dean is anything like his Dad, he 'll be easy on the eyes with them boxers off..”

“OH GROSS! MOMMMMMMMM!” Jo really didn't want to know how her mom came by that tasty tidbit.

Ellen regarded both her daughter and the almost empty bottle of Jim with similar feelings of warmth and regret. “Honey, there will come a time when he'll notice and you can't notice back.”

“Why not?” 

“Tragedy makes a plain man handsome and a handsome man angelic. Turns him into Micheal the freak'en arc angel in a plaid shirt and romper stompers.” Her mother knocked back the contents of the bottle in one long draw. “Because some night he's gonna come stumbling in all banged up and bloody, wailing about this thing or that and how if he doesn’t stop it the whole world will come to an end.” She wiped her lips with the back of her hand. “Then of course the shit head will faint dead away and you're left trying to handle two buck twenty in man meat back to your bed to strip, clean and bandage. Then there is the whole angel of mercy sex., not to be confused with a mercy/pity fuck.”

Jo looked shocked, “Mom, you never.........you did.”

Her mother was pulling another bottle of Jim out from under the bar. “I'm only human, Jo.” She opened it and let the aroma of age, oak and memory drift into the air. “You're daddy s' been gone a long time, there are feelings and needs that come up.....and.....” Ellen sighed and took a long pull from the bottle. “Some nights are lonely then others.”

Like most children of any age, Jo didn't think of her mother as a sexual being or having sex ever or may be just once. 

“As I was saying, angel of mercy sex, where you're all het up on blood and adrenaline, and all you want is this dolt to live and he wants to live and all of a sudden your bra goes one way and your mind goes the other.” The second bottle of Beam was fast going the way of the first. “I'm not saying it's not good sex....most times it's great. Happily, most times before morning they have the good graces to be gone, but every now again you get in the 'morner'.

“What's that?”

“A morner is a nooner only sooner.” 

Then Ellen got serious again. “Listen Jo Beth, I know it's gonna be hard, but......running after a Winchester is gonna do nothin but bring you a lotta pain, too much heart burn and.....well there's a little thing in that boys' make up that I'll wait to tell you about when you're older” . 

Jo and Sam had practiced bitch faces together a few times, “And why can't you tell me now?”

Her mother just stood up with a bit of a stagger, then straightened up, “story for another day my girl.” Ellen grabbed the bottle and headed toward the stairs to their apartment above the road house. “Let's just say Dean is....................a tiny bit.....bent.”

The daughter of Ellen Harvelle stood for a bit and then figured her mom was just a little too drunk and a whole lot of wrong. Dean Winchester was not bent......he stood up straight.


End file.
